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.She asked her father to send a package, a box perhaps, of nuts and bolts and computer pieces.There just didn’t seem to be a surplus of those items in the village.*Mrs Potts came into Sweet Treats and gazed at the row of framed prints on the wall.She took one from its hook and turned the frame over.Whatever she was looking for, it wasn’t there.She removed another picture, did exactly the same thing.Both pictures she hung back in their place.“Can I come back to your place” Nina said.Mrs Potts started.“Of course,” she said.“I was hoping someone would come to share my silverbeet cake.”Chapter 69c.AD 1674, ENGLAND: Thomas Willis, physician to the king, connects the body’s use of sugar to diabetes.“Look! There’s been a symposium on Women at Risk,” Bryn said.“Miss Clapham was a guest speaker.”Nina skimmed through the article.“She’ll be back soon,” she said.“Wonder what else she was doing,” Bryn said.“The symposium was yesterday.She’s been gone for ages.”“The hard work’s done,” Nina said.“So long as she’s back before the next fete, I’ll be happy.”Bryn tossed the paper into Nina’s woodbox.He hoped Miss Clapham would stay away for quite a while longer.He’d be sorry to see Nina go.*Laud Mayor tried to get comfortable on his beach-seat.He had never actually attempted to recline on it, had rather perched on the edge and gazed at his feet instead of across the water.He too had seen the newspaper article.Miss Clapham might not have university qualifications to speak on Women at Risk, but she had once been a woman at risk and she’d survived, so she was technically qualified to stand on the podium and tell her story.He only hoped that she’d left him right out of it.*Bryn jumped when the telephone rang.It rang so rarely in his small shop.Miss Clapham’s voice crackled over the very bad ’phone lines.She’d consulted her lawyer, who had told her there were grounds to press charges, but she’d decided not to.She would take it up with Laud Mayor himself, but she’d like Bryn to be present.Bryn remembered the chat he’d had with his lawyer too.It seemed eons ago, nearly irrelevant in the big scheme of things.He would be honoured to accompany her, he said, and he’d like to raise his own concerns at the same time.Would they need another witness?Perhaps Laud Mayor would care to arrange a witness of his own, Miss Clapham said.She would be back in a few days.Maybe Bryn could arrange with Laud Mayor a meeting time and place.In, say, a week.On his end of the phone, in the general store that had become his world, Bryn nodded, forgetting that Miss Clapham could not see him.She didn’t wait for him to speak, merely wished him well, and hung up.Bryn placed the phone back in its cradle, and turned to the waiting Maudie.“One day this place will be filled with peace and quiet again.”“Oh, Bryn,” Maudie said.“You don’t want peace and quiet.You want things to happen.It’s much more fun.”*Nina took each print from the wall.She looked at the backs.She shook each one a little, looking for who knows what.She looked up at Queen Victoria, steadfastly gazing down at her.“Forgive me,” she said.“I’m looking for something.”At Mrs Potts’ that evening, she looked carefully at each of the prints on her wall.Presumably, what Mrs Potts was looking for would not be in her own frames.She examined the backs, and shook them a little too, hoping one of them would sound or look different from the rest.After the television was turned off, after she’d heard Mrs Potts shuffle to her room and close her door, after she’d heard the creak of Mrs Potts’ bedsprings, Nina once again opened the bottom drawer.She knew what was in there now.She had found the missing magazines in Sweet Treats.Each one had been opened and read, the corners were tatty and the staples on the fold loosened.She’d found the subscription renewal form, heavily scribbled on but not in Miss Clapham’s handwriting.She had guessed it was Mrs Potts’ writing.No point renewing this.I won’t be having our collection taken by Laud.Taken? By Laud? Laud Mayor? What on earth would he be doing, taking a collection of prints from anybody?Once again she flipped through the contents of the bottom drawer.There were no subscription letters, no cancellation letters, no demand letters, nothing that would clarify Mrs Potts’ words.Nothing.Until she pulled the drawer right out and there, lying in a crumpled heap beneath the drawer was a hand-written page.Nina took it out, flattened it carefully.Squinted at the scrawled words.Skipped to the bottom of the page.Nigel Laud.She’d found it.Whatever it was that she looked for, it would be found on this page.His handwriting wasn’t much good.She couldn’t scan the page; each word had to be carefully deciphered.Marilla, I have loved you and lost you through no fault of my own.I have no desire to be scorned by a mere woman, nor will I be made a public laughing-stock.I will track you down wherever you go; I will destroy any chance you have of success.I will tell the world of your cunning ways and I will make your life a misery.When your life is over and done, you will burn in hell and I, looking down through heavenly portals, will laugh without ceasing.Nellie, you are a fool which is no more than can be expected from your sex.Your father was wise indeed to refuse you an inheritance.Your husband must have been drunk out of his mind to have asked you to be his wife.God rest their souls, they are safe from you now.You made a big mistake when you helped Marilla buy your father’s shop
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